Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1)
Read Wake Me With a Kiss: A Fairy Tale Retelling (Regency Fairy Twists Book 1) Online
Authors: Samantha Holt
WAKE ME WITH A KISS
A Regency Fairy Twist
Samantha
Holt
Copyright © 2016 Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may
not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.
Cover art by
www.promoforauthors.com
Published 6th September 2016
Edited by Em Petrova
Proofed by Destini Reece
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…well, Scotland…Rose lived
tucked away from the world with her aunt. Orphaned as a baby and adopted by her
aunt, she’s used to her eccentric ways—including her overprotectiveness. But
Rose wants more from life. However, she never quite expected for Laird Hamish
McTavish—complete with kilt—to change things. The brash, and admittedly braw,
man is hardly like the charming men Rose has been dreaming of.
Freshly returned from the battlefield with an unexpected inheritance, highlander
Hamish is struggling enough to fit in at the sleepy lowland village. When he
comes across a feisty young woman with wild hair and a bold tongue on his land,
he doesn’t expect it to lead to more than a five-minute argument.
But he cannot help himself. His curiosity is piqued. Who is this young
woman surrounded by three slightly crazed elderly women seemingly intent on
keeping her from the world? He must find out more.
Unfortunately, there are several people more than willing to get in the
way of that aim. Rose’s aunt for one—not to mention his late-cousin’s mistress
who is determined to replace one cousin with the other. Not only must Hamish
deal with his duties and find a way to get close to Rose, he must also find a
way to get rid of this abhorrent woman…before she does anything truly evil.
Dumfriesshire, Scotland 1812
Rose giggled. This man really did have the tickliest of tongues.
Considering she had never kissed a man before she had little with which to
compare it, but it was unusual. She tried to suppress the laugh bubbling up
inside her. However, it would not be held at bay. She laughed out loud.
This only seemed to increase the man’s enthusiasm.
She pushed him away, but he was heavy and persistent. Rose scowled. As
much as she had wanted her first kiss, she did not want it badly enough to
tolerate such behavior. Goodness, she’d rather die a spinster than tolerate one
more moment of this kiss.
Rose pushed again, feeling the rough texture of his coat under her
hands. Odd. She had thought he was wearing a soft wool tailcoat, but it seemed
he now had on a strange sort of fur coat.
A screech made them both pause. The man vanished but the odd tickling
tongue did not. She pushed against the weight on top of her and dragged open
her eyes.
One big, black wet nose. Two eager little eyes. A lot of matted fur and
an incredibly enthusiastic tongue. Rose tried to put her hand across her face
to prevent the keen attentions of the dog, but he was having none of it. His
kisses found their way under her palm, and he continued to lick her cheek.
Another screech drew her attention to Mrs. Shaw. Red-cheeked and out of
breath, the cook must have dashed upstairs after the mutt as it had barreled
into Rose’s bedroom.
Forcing herself up, she managed to push the dog back but he seemed
insistent on licking every available piece of skin he could find. He lapped
eagerly at her fingers while she eased him down the bed. She blinked around the
room, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. Sun seeped between the floral
yellow curtains. It was morning at least.
“Where did you come from?” she asked the pup.
He continued licking whilst Mrs. Shaw gave another frightening squeal,
rather like that of a battle cry, and darted forward with a broom held high. If
Rose were not so concerned about the dog—or even her own safety for that matter—she
would have laughed at the image of the petite Mrs. Shaw charging like a knight
on horseback.
Rose held her hands aloft in surrender and dragged the dog close,
receiving another slurp up the cheek for her troubles.
“Do not touch him, Miss Rose,” the cook warned. “You don’t know where he’s
been.”
She looked at the animal which, in spite of being horribly scruffy, appeared
to be clean and healthy. “He looks loved.” She urged him onto his back for a
belly rub. “And you are certainly a he.”
“Rose!” the cook shrieked.
The dog’s ears pricked and he bolted from the bed.
“Mrs. Shaw, you’re scaring him.”
Rose leapt out of bed and tried to grab the animal, but he darted
between her legs and out her bedroom door. Mrs. Shaw gave yet another
ear-piercing screech, liable to wake the whole of Scotland, before bustling out
after the dog.
Rose sighed. The dog could be running around for hours. Her aunt’s manor
house was a maze of rooms. Some wooden paneled and some covered in ancient
tapestries that were worn in many places. Rose’s room was freshly decorated in
a lemon yellow and though the dark wood, uneven floorboards dated back to the
sixteenth century, the décor kept it bright and airy.
Shaking her head with a smile, Rose fumbled for her gown and pushed her
feet into her slippers to protect them from the cool wooden floor. Though it
was the height of summer and they had received some admirable weather for the
lowlands of Scotland, the day had barely started and the house remained cool.
She peeked at the clock before dashing out of the bedroom. Hopefully her aunt,
whose hearing was deteriorating with age, had not heard a thing and slept on.
Aunt May did not like to rise until well after nine in the morning.
Miss Taylor, however, had awoken it seemed. As Rose dashed down the
wooden stairs to the large entrance hall where wooden beams spanned a raised
roof and beveled windows let in the morning light. She barreled into the
housekeeper.
“What was all that noise?” the woman demanded.
“Mrs. Shaw. And a dog,” Rose blurted before hurrying through the pale
blue breakfast room and the rear door into the servant’s quarters, where
barking could be heard.
The housekeeper followed her. “There’s a dog in the house?”
“Yes.”
They hurried down the stairs into the kitchen.
“However did it get in here?”
Rose paused as she nearly slipped on the bottom step. Miss Taylor
grabbed her arm. “Be careful, Miss Rose. The last thing we need is you hurt as
well as dealing with a stray dog.”
Nodding, she ducked under the low beam to view the chaos. Mrs. Shaw
usually kept a very tidy kitchen. With only Rose and Aunt May to look after,
she had plenty of time to keep the place organized and they had no other
servants aside from the gardener who lived in the village.
The kitchen, big enough to feed a large family and their guests, was
always neat. The large cupboard to one side dominated the room, while the tall
ceilings allowing high shelving which housed the fine china they rarely used.
The black hearth took up the other side, though they seldom used more than one
oven. In between these was a large table that the cook had used to prepare
their meals as long as Rose could remember.
Usually the giant copper pans were hung neatly on the wall, but instead
they were scattered across the table and floor. The large mixing bowl that
should have been tucked in the cupboard was upside down near the rear door.
Various utensils were in the oddest of places. There was even a puddle of
something on the flagstone floor. She was not sure how long the dog had been in
the house but, apparently, it had been long enough to cause utter chaos.
Barks emanated from the store cupboard. Rose and Miss Taylor found the
cook curled up in one corner while the dog eagerly stood guard, barking at her.
The tiny cook, with her white curls peeking haphazardly out of her cap, shook a
ladle at him.
“Back off,” Mrs. Shaw ordered the animal. “Back off!”
Behind Rose, Miss Taylor laughed.
Mrs. Shaw narrowed her gaze at them both. “Stop laughing and help me.
This blasted mutt is running riot and dirtying my kitchen. We shall have to
clean it from top to bottom!”
Rose eased down onto the cold stone floor and held out her hand. “Here,
boy,” she said softly.
The dog turned his attention to her, but Mrs. Shaw jumped up. “Don’t let
him touch you. You shall get a disease!”
Startled, the animal bolted once more, flying out the open rear door and
up the steps to the outer courtyard. Rose sighed.
“He was fine. He was likely hungry. Poor mite.” Pushing to her feet, she
glanced around at the chaos.
Miss Taylor shook her head and lifted a copper pot. “Was it really
necessary to throw everything at the animal, Mrs. Shaw? He was only a small
dog.”
Mrs. Shaw thrust her hands upon her hips and glared up at the tall,
slightly rounded woman. “He was a filthy mutt. I wanted him nowhere near me. I
had to defend myself with something.”
Miss Taylor peered at the cutlery strewn across the table. “With
everything?”
“What should I have done? Invited the dirty animal in and fed him?”
Rose did not point out that perhaps if she had offered him some food, he
might not have run all over the house. Instead, she drew back. The women had worked
for her aunt as long as she could remember and knew each other better than
anyone. That said, it meant they could argue for hours and it was looking
extremely likely that was about to happen.
“No doubt you left the kitchen door open and practically invited him in
anyway,” the housekeeper accused. “You were lucky it wasn’t a fox.”
Mrs. Shaw’s eyes flared. Rose took another step back, easing toward the
steps to the servants’ quarters.
“I did not leave the door open!”
Rose coughed. “I think I shall take a walk, see if I can catch up with
him.”
The morning meal would not be served for several more hours and the day
was turning bright, so the idea of remaining indoors amongst all the chaos did
not much appeal.
Neither woman paid any attention to her as they squared up to one
another. She only hoped the argument was over before Aunt May awoke.
Hastening back up to her room, she flung open the curtains and admired
the burgeoning summer day. Aunt May had always told her she was far too
English. The mere sight of sunshine had her excited, mostly because she found
the dreary Scottish weather stifling, particularly when one had to remain
indoors with one’s aunt. As much as she loved her aunt, and even Mrs. Shaw and
Miss Taylor, she longed for some company closer to her own age.
Not that there were any about. The village people were pleasant enough
but were closer to her aunt’s age. Most of the younger people ventured south or
to the bigger towns when they came of age. Aunt May was not one for socializing
anyway. She preferred her own company, she always said. Rose suspected some
thought her too proud to spend time with anyone of lower status.
However, Rose knew Aunt May was never snobbish and whilst they had a large
house, they lived modestly. No doubt Aunt May had to make her funds stretch,
though she had never quite figured out where her widowed aunt gained her money.
She had once said something vague about her parents leaving her money to look
after her in their wills, but she had refused to answer any more questions and
Rose had to assume her sister’s death was too painful for her to think about.
It still seemed a little odd to Rose that she was not really allowed the
opportunity to make friends with those supposedly below her own situation, particularly
given Rose had no situation. After all, she had no rank, no fortune, no
friends, and no family.
Sighing, she set about her ablutions and dressed for the day in a simple
sprigged muslin dress. Miss Taylor could be counted on to do her hair on the
rare occasion she went any farther than the village, but today she would remain
in the woods to see if she could find the dog so she braided her hair over one
shoulder and left it at that.
She supposed she could be grateful for many things about her situation,
and one was the freedom to roam wherever she may like. In the many, many books
she had read, young women were escorted everywhere and watched over constantly.
Thank goodness she did not have to tolerate that.
Rose stopped by the larder, ignoring the raised voices still coming from
the kitchen, and put a little ham into a hamper. If the dog was hungry, perhaps
he might sniff it out. She really did want to make sure he was fed and well.
Throwing on a shawl, she headed out toward the woods. Aunt May’s house
sat on a river bend, blocking it off from the land to the west. She doubted the
dog had gone for a swim, so she would head in the other direction in the hopes
of coming across him.
The well-manicured lawns turned into wild fields before she reached the
edge of the woods. She had been exploring them since she was a young child and
knew each tree and rock and gulley with such intimate knowledge that she often
boasted of never once getting lost.
She hopped over the old tree that had fallen years before her arrival in
Scotland and made her way down the natural path that her feet and that of
others had worn into a permanent one.
“Here, doggy,” she called and lifted the cloth of the basket, giving it
a little waft in the hopes he might catch the scent.
The only sounds around her were that of a few birds hopping from branch
to branch. While she made her way through the woods, she did come upon a
squirrel.
But no dog.
When she emerged from the other side of the woods, she had been walking
for a good hour. She paused to look around at the open fields, some filled with
tufts of bright purple heather, others a mix of green and yellow. Perhaps, if
she waited, he would follow the scent. Her aunt had always said if she ever got
lost to stay in one spot so she could be found. Well, she was not lost but
maybe her aunt’s advice worked with stray dogs too.
Rose found a flat piece of grass, uncovered the ham again, and lay back,
her hands behind her head. She watched the clouds pass lazily by until her eyes
grew heavy. She yawned. No wonder she was tired with her early start, and the
summer nights had made it hard for her to settle. Not to mention the odd dreams
of strange men. The only men Rose knew well were the delivery man and the gardener.
Why should she dream of faceless men? She had little chance to meet any and
even less intention of trying to. A kiss would be nice, but she had decided
several years ago that men were not worth all the trouble. If the books she
read were to be believed, they only led to heartache and misery. Why would she
wish to give up her freedom for a man?